Meantime, fighting no less determined and sanguinary had taken place at the cemetery and Culp’s Hill. Lee’s plan contemplated a simultaneous attack at the north and south; but Ewell, at the north, was late in his advance, and the intended effect of distracting the Federals was wellnigh lost. The Louisiana brigade dashed itself in vain against the height just above the town. The Stonewall division fared better; for, the Federal defenders being for the most part withdrawn, they seized intrenchments on Culp’s Hill, penetrating far—for Meade a most critical advance, since they came within thirty rods of the Baltimore turnpike, where lay his trains and reserve ammunition. The South has always believed that, had Stonewall Jackson been there, the Federal rear would have been reached, and rout and capture made certain.
For both sides it had been a day of terrible experiences, and for the Federals the outlook was perhaps more gloomy than for their foes. On each flank the Confederates had gained an advantage, and Lee probably felt a hopefulness which the circumstances did not really justify. Meade gathered his generals at midnight in council. It was in a little room, but ten or twelve feet square, a group dust-covered and sweat-stained, the strong faces sternly earnest. Some sat on the bed; some stood; Warren, wounded, stretched out on the floor, was overcome by sleep. There was no vote but to fight it out on the morrow. In this Meade acquiesced, carefully planning for a retreat, however, should the need arise. To Gibbon, commanding the Second Corps, placed between the wings, he said: “Your turn will come to-morrow. To-day he has struck the flanks; next, it will be the centre.”[262]
Lee was drawn on by the success of the first day to fight again on the second; his success on the second induced him to try for the third time; but he had exhausted his good-fortune. At earliest dawn of July 3, 1863, began a wrestle for the possession of Culp’s Hill, Ewell heavily reinforcing the Stonewall division which had won footing there the night before, and the Twelfth Corps as stubbornly struggling for the ground it had lost. It was a fight of six hours, in which the extreme northern wings of the two armies only were concerned. The Federals won, at a heavy sacrifice of life.
POSITION, JULY 3, IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON
Elsewhere the armies rested, an ominous silence at last reigning on the trampled and bloody field under the mid-day sun. Meade and his soldiers knew that it portended danger, and with a sure intuition the army chief was watching with especial care the centre, as yet unassailed. On the Confederate side, the unhappy Longstreet, at odds with his chief as to the wisdom of the campaign from the start, and disapproving both its strategy and tactics, was now in deeper gloom than ever. Lee had determined to assault the Federal centre, and by a cruel turn of fate the blow must be struck by the reluctant Longstreet. Of the three great Confederate corps, it was only in Longstreet’s that a force remained as yet unwrung by the fearful agonies of the last two days. Pickett’s division, solidly Virginian, and in the eyes of Lee a Tenth Legion in its valor, as yet had done nothing, and was to bear the brunt of the attack. “What troops do you design for the assault?” Longstreet had asked. Lee, having indicated Pickett’s division of five thousand, with auxiliary divisions, making an entire number in the charging column of fifteen thousand, the Georgian burst out: “I have been a soldier from the ground up. I have been with soldiers engaged in fights by couples, by squads, companies, regiments, armies, and should know as well as any one what soldiers can do. It is my opinion that no fifteen thousand men ever arrayed for battle can take that position.”[263]
But Lee was unmoved. Confident of success, he despatched Stuart, arrived at last after his raid, so long and futile, around beyond the Federal right. When the Union centre should be broken and Meade thrown into retreat, Stuart was to seize its only practicable route for retreat, the Baltimore pike, and make the defeat decisive.
Meade, meantime, had managed warily and well. At his centre stood Hancock, his best lieutenant. There were massed the First and Second corps, with reserve troops at hand ready to pour in at the word, with batteries bearing upon front and flank, every approach guarded, every man and horse on the alert. The provost guards, and in the rear of all a regiment of cavalry, formed in line behind, had orders to shoot any faint-hearts who, in the crisis, should turn from the foe to flee.[264] At one o’clock two signal-guns were heard on Seminary Ridge, upon which followed a terrible cannonade, appalling but only slightly harmful, for the waiting ranks found cover from the missiles. Feeling sure that this was a prelude to something more serious, the Federal chief relaxed his fire to spare his ammunition. It was understood on the other side that the Federal guns were silenced; and that moment having been appointed as the time for the onset, Pickett inquired of Longstreet if he should go forward. Longstreet, convinced that the charge must fail, made no reply, though the question was repeated. “I shall go forward,” said Pickett, to which his general bowed his head. Instantly was heard the footbeat of the fifteen thousand, and the heavy-hearted Longstreet, mounting his horse, rode out to behold the sacrifice. He has recorded that the column passed him down the slope high-hearted, buoyant, hopeful, Pickett riding gracefully, like a holiday soldier, with cap set jauntily on his long, auburn locks.[265]
The silence of the Federal guns had been for a purpose. As Pickett’s men appeared there was a sudden reopening of their tumult; a deadly sequence from round-shot to canister, and thence to the Minié-balls of the infantry. The defenders now saw before them, as they peered through the battle smoke from their shelter, a solid wedge of men, the division of Pickett, flanked by masses on the right and left commanded by Pettigrew and Wilcox. The column approached, and visibly melted away. Of Pickett’s commanders of brigades every one went down, and their men lay literally in heaps beside them.
“A thousand fell where Kemper led;
A thousand died where Garnett bled;
In blinding flame and strangling smoke
The remnant through the batteries broke,
And crossed the line with Armistead.”